A DUKE'S CRIMSON SCANDAL

The voices were like a distant echo in his head, but even unconscious, he could recognize them.

"He doesn’t look like he would make it," Soren spoke quietly.

"He will be just fine," Rowan replied.

There was silence in the infirmary for a while, and Elian could faintly make out their footsteps walking around the floor.

"He sent out the invitations this morning," Rowan suddenly said.

Soren scoffed. "He has really chosen his path. Then let him walk it."

"He is being stubborn. He will come around," Rowan said.

"He won’t... Lucien never comes around for anyone. Not even himself," Soren muttered.

"Let’s take these sheets out. At least Elian is not bleeding anymore," Rowan sighed.

Their footsteps moved toward the door until Elian stopped hearing them completely.

Elian tried to move but failed. He wanted to wake up, to get up from that bed and demand an explanation for what Soren and Rowan had just discussed.

He tried and tried to move his muscles, but he failed, just lying there motionlessly.

After a very long, torturous while, his eyes slowly opened. He blinked, focusing on the wooden ceiling above him, waiting for his body to wake with his eyes as well.

Suddenly, it hit him.

His fingers clutched the sheets as the area Soren had stitched on his chest throbbed like he’d been freshly shot with an arrow.

*Why did he have to go through all this?*

And still, Lucien refused to love him.

’Back to square one,’ he thought breathlessly.

When his body adjusted to the pain, he slowly opened his eyes again, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead as he panted quietly.

How long till his agony ended?

How long till Lucien loved him?

He recalled everything that had happened last night. He had bared his feelings, and he had gotten rejected in the most cruel way.

Lucien even went ahead to send out his engagement ball invitations... he truly did not care for him.

He was really pathetic as Lucien had implied last night. Who would shamelessly confess their feelings to a man who murdered their father, imprisoned their mother, and treated them like slaves?

Elian... that’s who.

He hated himself for what he did, yet he could not bring himself to regret it because he meant it. He meant it with everything he had, and in the deepest part of his heart, he prayed and hoped that Lucien would one day see him as a man and not a toy.

Footsteps sounded from outside the door and Elian felt a tinge of hope in his chest, believing that Lucien had come to see him this time.

However, the moment the gentle feminine fragrance reached his nostrils, his hope died and dwindled like a withered flower.

Lysandra had come to see him.

He did not bother to turn his face for he knew she would come to him. Soon, Lysandra’s shadow fell over his lying form.

"You’re awake... thank heavens," Lysandra’s soft voice spoke beside him.

Elian blinked slowly, not responding.

Lysandra quietly pulled a chair over and lowered herself by the side of Elian’s bed, staring at the young man’s pale face.

"I’m sorry you’re going through this," she whispered.

"Then..." he paused and coughed, his throat parched.

"Are you okay? Do you need water?" Lysandra was on her feet, walking over to the table with a jug of water and a mug.

She poured some water into the mug and hurried back to Elian.

"Here, let me help you," she said softly, placing the mug down on the chair and sliding her hand under Elian’s neck.

"Ugh!" Elian groaned as she tried to lift him. "It hurts," he murmured shakily.

Lysandra was helpless. She paused her lifting and grabbed the mug, bringing it to Elian’s lips.

"Here, try to drink while I hold you up a bit." She tilted the mug to his lips.

Elian only managed to take a few sips before he pulled away, shaking his head.

Lysandra immediately lowered him back on the bed, placing the mug on the table. She returned to his side, her eyes filled with concern.

"I’m really sorry, Elian. I wish there was something I could do to end all this—"

"There is," Elian cut her off weakly.

Lysandra stilled, narrowing her eyes. "What is that?" she asked cautiously.

Elian clenched his jaw as he forced his hand toward her, his palm open. "Touch my hand," he said quietly.

Lysandra stared at Elian’s hand for a while and sighed. "I can’t, Elian," she murmured.

Elian smiled sadly. "Then you can’t help me," he muttered.

"I know what you are," Lysandra stated.

Elian paused, frowning. "How did you know?" he asked slowly.

He was very sure he had told no one apart from Lucien and Finn.

Could Lucien have told her? Did he trust her that much? That meant his thoughts were correct—Lysandra had a significant past encounter with Lucien.

"He told me this morning. He said you wanted to know the truth... his truth. He does not want you knowing, and if I touched you... you would know. I would never break a promise to Lucien," Lysandra explained.

"Are you his secret lover?" Elian asked, coughing again and wincing as his chest throbbed painfully.

Lysandra chuckled. "You’re his secret lover," she corrected him.

"Not anymore," Elian whispered, shutting his eyes.

Lysandra inhaled quietly, drawing the chair closer so she could place her elbows on Elian’s bed.

"Lucien has a dark past. You already figured that out. I am not allowed to discuss it for it is not my matter. I have mine, too. You have also figured that out, and even though it is my matter, I do not discuss it... ever," she said calmly, smoothing his hair back.

Elian chuckled softly. "He does not tell me anything. He does not trust me... I made a mistake. I fell in love with him. I shouldn’t have." He smiled bitterly. "I fell in love with a monster."

"He is not a monster," Lysandra smiled.

"Please, tell me... a little. What happened to him? How can I help him?" he begged.

After a tense silence, Lysandra looked away. "He was just a boy... that’s all I can say," she murmured.

Elian sighed. "That is not helpful at all," he said.

"You’re awake," Soren hurried into the infirmary, his eyes filled with relief.

"I will go now. Be well." Lysandra touched Elian’s face gently and stood, quietly leaving the infirmary.

Elian stared at the door long after she left, the weight of unspoken truths pressing heavier on his chest than the reopened wound. Lucien’s silence, his impending marriage, and the walls he refused to lower left Elian drowning in a pain far deeper than any blade could cause.

"How are you?" Soren questioned, squatting down.

Elian nodded. "I’m fine. When can I get on my feet again?" he asked.

"Soon..." Soren caressed Elian’s face. "I really need you to be well," he whispered.

"I am well," Elian replied, looking utterly sad.

"You know... if you want, I can leave the manor and take you to my home. It’s far away from here. You’ll never get to see Lucien or Rowena. You’ll be free," Soren suggested.

Elian smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I would like to eat something very hot right now," he said.

Soren chuckled, nodding slowly.

Perhaps he was too forward. He would take it one step at a time, starting by getting Elian to fully trust and depend on him.

"Alright. Just wait a little while. I will inform your mother—"

"No," Elian cut in softly. "Not my mother." He shook his head.

Soren frowned. "Why?"

Elian bit his lower lip. He believed she would not sympathize with him again, not after telling him to kill the Duke at any chance he got, instead, he ended up getting hurt again. He could not look into her disappointed eyes while knowing that he had stupidly confessed his feelings to the man he was supposed to kill.

"Tell Ms. Beck... please," he begged.

Soren nodded. "Alright. I’ll tell Ms. Beck then." He replied and walked out of the infirmary.

After a few seconds, Elian heard footsteps returning and thought it was Soren, but the moment the tall figure stepped into the infirmary, his whole body froze.

The masculine scent mixed with the scent of clove filled the air.

Lucien was here.

His pulse raced, chest throbbing from both pain and anxiety. He wanted to be excited, but he also knew he had to be cautious. He did not know what to expect from Lucien at the moment.

Lucien’s steady footsteps approached the bed, his tall frame blocking the light from reaching Elian.

He stared down at Elian’s pale face, a tight sensation twisting painfully in his chest. He did not mean to be here, but his feet had somehow brought him here.

Elian refused to look at him, choosing to stare at the roof like he hadn’t noticed his presence.

Above all, he was relieved, glad that Elian had survived.

"Your things have been moved downstairs," Lucien murmured.

Elian suddenly hardened his face, his hands balling into fists.

That was it?

That was what Lucien came to tell him?

He pitied his heart. Falling for such an unfeeling man was a curse, and he wished he knew how to break that curse.

"You shall still perform your duty as my attendant. But your place is no longer by my side at every moment," Lucien explained.

"Yes, Your Grace," Elian’s shaky voice replied, his eyes refusing to meet Lucien’s for he did not want to see the cold detachment in those green eyes.

"It is good this way—"

"I said, yes, Your Grace..." He slowly turned his head, meeting Lucien’s unreadable gaze. "Please, leave, Your Grace," he muttered.

Lucien held Elian’s gaze for a moment, his lips almost parting to say words he knew would make everything right. Instead, he turned and walked away, breaking the young man all over again.

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